


Fall Dog Bombs the Moon

by WolfstarGarden



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, M/M, Marauders' Era, The Prank, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2016-10-18
Packaged: 2018-08-23 05:19:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8315443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfstarGarden/pseuds/WolfstarGarden
Summary: Nothing matters more to Sirius than his friends. Except perhaps a great joke. 
But this time Remus might not forgive him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So, this all started from a headcanon I had and a desire to write a 'The Prank' story prompted solely by the lyrics of the song 'Fall Dog Bombs the Moon' by my beloved deity David Bowie. The story didn't end up with much of the song's influence (still worth checking out the lyrics) but I'm still happy with the headcanon. And I just can't resist putting the puppies together in everything I write.

**Fall Dog Bombs the Moon**

 

Just one drop. One little, tiny golden drop, that’s all he needs. That’s all it takes. It glimmers on his fingertip, narrow and compact and oh, so enticing. This is the key. This will tell him how to do it, how to finally _do it_. This shimmering golden dew is the answer to all his problems.

It tastes good on his tongue, spreading mellow warmth across each tiny tastebud, filling him with courageous understanding. Merlin, if this is what one _drop_ tastes like, what will it be like to drink down the whole bottle?

_Full moon_. That’s the time. That’s when he’ll take the rest. He doesn’t really understand how he knows this, but he does all the same, and when he peers at the diminutive flask in his hand, it’s almost as if the swirls within it are able to look back at him, to nod a small understanding. _Full moon_.

He can wait.

l-l

James is in detention, Peter is out with Claudia, his Hufflepuff girlfriend, and Remus is edgy and wants to be alone. So Sirius is aimlessly prowling the castle, hands curling and uncurling, tight fists, tense and impotent curled at his sides as he decides to search for new secret halls.

When he doesn’t find any, he thinks that maybe he’ll see what the kitchens got made of chocolate. Then he can take some back to Remus, a little pre-moon sedative, perhaps. He hates watching Remus ailing as the moon waxes, hates the evening before when he shuts them completely out, even though they’ll be together before midnight, he still has to take time for himself, to adjust. Afterwards is even worse, when Sirius knows that Remus is overcome with vulnerability, and he won’t let any of them see him in the infirmary, and he casts sticking spells on the drapes around his bed after he returns to the dormitory, just so none of them can see him.

If he had the presence of mind after changing back when the moon sets, Sirius is pretty sure he‘d hex them all for witnessing it. It makes him frustrated and he fills with righteous injustice knowing he can’t give the support Remus needs, the support he so dearly wants to give his beautiful friend.

So instead Sirius tramps through the Hogwarts halls, heading downwards for the kitchen basements. As he enters the Great Hall, he bumps into the very last person he ever wants to see. Especially now, when he is taut with aggravation and would be exceedingly happy to take some of it out on a human punching bag.

“Black,” Snape says, his lip circling into a sneer, but there’s something slightly different about it, not just cruel and cold but also somehow ... triumphant. As if he has a secret Sirius ought to know. His own mouth curls, he runs his tongue across his teeth, imagining how good it would feel to Transfigure and sink canine fangs into Snape’s sallow, smug face.

“Evening, Snivels,” he says, perfectly haughty, perfectly aloof. Manners are bred into him, and he wants to remind Snape of his superiority. Sirius doesn’t even believe in all that blood hype – but he knows that Snape does, so it’s nice to prick him with it.

“Beautiful evening, isn’t it?” Snape asks, still with that annoying tone. His black eyes are gleaming. “Good night for expulsion.”

Sirius scowls at him, bemused. “As usual, you make no sense, git.” Sirius curls his fingers around the hilt of his wand, secure in the scabbard on his hip. Money has benefits. It did anyway, when he had it. Snape’s eyes dart for a second, before meeting his again.

“Oh, I think I do.” Snape’s sneer turns even more slimy, even more self-satisfied. It irks Sirius, far more than words alone ever could. He starts to draw his wand, keen to curse the smirk off his stupid, smarmy face. “After all, I know you filthy blood-traitors are always up to something. And I can see from your agitation that something’s on the cards for tonight. I think tonight’s my lucky night; tonight I’ll finally reveal you and get you all expelled.”

“You need to get a better hobby, Snivellus,” Sirius says, haughtily dismissive. He holds his wand tight against his hip as he tries to stalk past, but Snape steps in front of him.

“You still think you’re untouchable? D’you think I don’t _know_ about you? D’you think your brother hasn’t told me _every_ thing? I’m going to enjoy seeing you expelled, every bit as much I’m going to enjoy seeing Potter kicked out. What good will your _skill_ be when your wand is snapped? Living on muggle charity, friendless, family-less... Potter won’t support you forever, and the other two will blame you, like your family blames you, and you’ll never see your precious Lupin again.”

Sirius stares at him, momentarily lost for words, utterly astonished. He laughs, barking loudly as he reaches out and shoves Snape in the shoulder, forcing him out of his way. “You’ll have to get past the Whomping Willow to find us out, Snivellus. Actually, why not try it? A few thumps might improve your face!”

And he stalks off, still laughing, and shakes his head when he hears the entry doors swing open and bang shut as Snape heads outside.

Sirius steps onto the basement stairs, and says to himself, “The Willow will hit him better than any hex I know. Score one, Padfoot...”

l-l

He crouches in the gathering dusk, just beyond sight, back from the tree. The night is cool, cooler than one might expect for springtime, but it doesn’t matter, because that gleaming gold potion has compelled him, and somehow he just _knows_ that this is right. Just as he knew the right words with which to provoke Black.

 Black, with his stupid, sinister sense of humour, who played directly into his hands. Stupid Black, as smart as he is, he is so, so stupid when it comes to his friends, and that is his weakness. With typical Gryffindor ignorance, they assume that he has no friends because he’s unlikable – granted, it’s not easy for him, but he also prefers to be alone. If his attraction for _her_ has shown him anything, it’s that attachment is a weakness.

And it hurts.

Well, those fucking Gryffindors will all be hurting by the end of the night.

There is a shape moving with slow steadiness across the lawn, and he frowns, recognising Lupin by his long, graceful stride. He’s curled beneath a voluminous dark cloak, only his pallid face visible in the deepening gloom, and he looks shaky and unwell.

He thinks that Lupin must be some sort of vanguard, proof that even someone so unwell will put himself out for his friends. He shakes his head, tendrils of lank black hair swinging against his jaw. So this is why Lupin is always slinking away; he must be unobtrusively laying the plans for whatever ridiculousness they’re currently up to. He’s always known that Lupin is not the tame creature he appears to be, that he’s every bit as conniving and creative in rule-breaking as the others. It’s Pettigrew who’s the unimaginative one, who just trails behind them, eager to be included.

He slinks back into the encroaching shadows as Lupin gets closer and points at the tree with his wand. He smothers a gasp when a blinding light erupts from the wand tip, a sleek wolf cantering away, casting ghostly flickers across the already drawn features of Lupin’s gaunt face. The wolf bursts across the grass, darting with smooth agility, a beautiful, graceful thing, that even he can appreciate as it bounds between the flailing branches of the Willow. _It’s a Patronus_ , he realises, with sudden amazement. Where on earth would Lupin learn something that advanced? Hogwarts has never taught anything so complex.

But there’s no time to dwell on that, because the shining wolf leaps suddenly, launching itself at the base of the tree and landing on a ridge in the trunk, and the tree freezes immediately as if stunned. He makes a note of where the spot it, but the wolf has faded and he’s not sure he’ll recognise the exact place again. Maybe the potion will set it in his brain; maybe it will be gone when the effect wears off.

Lupin is moving, ducking under the frozen branches, and suddenly he is gone, invisible in the shadows.

He jumps up, knowing it is safe, knowing he won’t be discovered, and hurries forwards, shooting nervous glances at the tree as he approaches it. He smirks, this has been too easy, and he isn’t in any danger from the Willow whatsoever. Black is simply too stupid, too easy to manipulate.

And when he gets close, he sees the entrance of a tunnel between the roots, over grown with long turf and the ivy that curls around the Willow’s trunk. A sudden creaking alerts him that the tree’s stupefaction is wearing off, and with a knowing impulse, he dives into the tunnel and after Lupin.

l-l

“Where’ve you been, my brother?” James asks him cheerily when Sirius gets back to the common room. It’s late; there was nothing chocolate to be had in the kitchen, so Sirius stayed there to eat some leftover apple pie, before returning to Gryffindor tower with a stack of cauldron cakes that the House Elves had forced upon him. He knows by the darkness creeping through the windows that Remus will be long gone. He imagines that Snape is in the infirmary, having his whopping big nose reconstructed.

“Kitchens, idiot,” Sirius replies warmly, tossing cakes to each of his friends, sitting at opposite ends of the couch by the fire. He decides to share his encounter, thinking James will find Snape’s ridiculous threats and certainty of getting them expelled just as comical as he had. “Saw Snivellus on my way down. Get this...”

James doesn’t laugh though, when he finishes the story, instead he frowns and grips the armrest tightly. “When exactly was this?”

Sirius shrugs. “A little before dusk, why? I was thinking we could duck into the infirmary on the way out, see how bashed in he got. Godric’s sword, you can’t plan jokes this good, can you?”

“Sirius, you fucking fool!” James is on his feet, eyes wild and fearful, and Sirius takes a step back, alarmed. Other students are looking at them, curious. “If he ... he went outside you said! If he got there first, he could have followed Moony! He could have followed him in and ... oh my god.” James looks at Peter. Firelight gleams on the lenses of his glasses. “Moony will kill him,” James says. “Peter, we have to stop him. We have to go. Now!”

Peter nods, and steps up next to James. Sirius is too taken aback, confused by James’ reaction, at this sudden change in the situation. He truly doesn’t understand what’s just happened. “Wha-?”

“There’s no time, Sirius!” James snaps. “If Snape waited at the tree, and saw Moony enter the tunnel, he could have followed him safely in. Which means...!”

Sirius’ blood runs cold, the blood draining abruptly from his face. “Holy fuck. How...?”

“No time!” James repeats, finally getting his shoes on and charming the laces up, and he grabs Peter’s hand and sprints for the portrait hole. “Get Minnie! Get Dumbles! Get _someone_!”

And then they’re gone, and Sirius is standing, shaking, stunned, staring at the portrait hole, and everyone else in the room is staring at him. Then with slow, horrified realisation he springs into action, and races after his friends.

l-l

The tunnel is dank and cold, smelling of damp earth, setting a chill in his bones. Everything about this only confirms what he knows about the four Gryffindors, that they’re troublemakers deserving to be removed from Hogwarts. He thinks about how good his victory will taste when they’re gone, when their dumb, animals faces are no longer there to torment and threaten him, how Potter will be humiliated and ostracised from the magical community, his family falling further out of polite, pure society. And then, finally perhaps, he’ll have the space to win _her_ back, and even though she’s his weakness, she’s the one weakness he’s willing to endure. Because it’s harder to be without her.

He’s long since lost sight of Lupin, who doesn’t use a _lumos_ spell, and he isn’t willing to announce himself by casting one either.

So he creeps through the dark passage, the earth soft and cushioning beneath his shoes, silencing his steps.

There’s suddenly a noise above him, a distant thud, rattling down and down. Earth shakes loose and tumbles down around him, scattering into his hair. And then, unexpected, a heart-rending scream that pierces his brain through the ground above, through whatever else is above that ground, and he cowers despite himself, throwing a protective arm over his head as he spins and points with his wand, readying to fight.

The thudding noise comes again, louder now, then again and again, punctuated only with agonised screaming that seems to be changing, getting deeper – more guttural, a lower pitch, a dangerous, terrifying sound, and somehow he knows that Lupin is in trouble, that whatever is going on above his head, Lupin is caught up in it.

He doesn’t even realise he’s running _forwards_ , towards Lupin, until he reaches the boarded door at the end of the tunnel. What is he doing here, what does he care if Lupin is torn apart and eaten by a Thestral, or whatever the hell is happening? The hideous screams have finally stopped, small blessing, but the slavering growls of a hungry beast echo down and through the door instead. Maybe Lupin is already dead. There’s no point in going any further, he’ll only put himself at risk.

And he knows that that’s the truth, that it would be extremely foolhardy to go any further, and the potion inside him whispers _wait_ , because he doesn’t know how any of this is supposed to help get the Gryffindors expelled.

So he waits, knowing it’s the right thing to do, knowing he can’t go further, but then another shriek reaches his ears, and the potion starts to seep out of his system, the small vial empty, his blood emptying of its influence, and gradually his curiosity gets the better of him. He reaches for the handle of the door...

l-l

Peter transforms when they reach the tree, and James hops impatiently from foot to foot, waiting for him to press the knot that will let him pass safely. His eyes search the sky, watching the last sliver of the sun as it sinks below the mountains beyond the lake, before turning to sweep across the forest. He knows that somewhere past the trees, in the Shrieking Shack, a werewolf is about to become dangerous.

The tree freezes, and he’s moving again, athlete’s lungs working hard as he pushes himself harder than he thinks he ever has, because Snape is an idiot, a lucky _bleeding_ idiot, and Remus is more valuable than Snape’s life, and Remus has to protected from that idiot.

And Sirius is an idiot, and James is furious at him in a way he never though he could be, but at least Peter is reliable, and knowing that he’s waiting for them all gives him some small comfort. He’ll have someone on his side when he finally thinks of the right hex to pay his best friend back with.

The tunnel seems so much longer when he’s trying to get through it quickly. The beam of light his wand shines is almost inadequate as it bounces and shakes off the earthen walls, and James nearly trips twice, but at least he knows the path fairly well.

Relief washes through him in a wave almost orgasmic when he finally sees the shape before him, swathed in black robes, reaching for the door handle that will lead him directly through a basement beneath a hungry, impatient werewolf. James has been able to block out the screaming, the thrashing sounds of transformation, by focussing on the sound of his own heartbeat thumping in his ears, the wallop of his feet in the dirt, his ragged breath. He has to, because knowing that _that_ is what Remus sounds like ... the indescribable agony ... the violent brutality ... it breaks his heart. And he wants to forget it; selfishly, he wants to pretend he’s never heard it. He feels sick as he understands why Remus refuses to let them be with him until _after_ the moon rises.

A pale hand grasps the door knob, and begins to twist, and James is too far away...

“PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!” he bellows, waving wildly with his wand as he pelts forwards, and he gasps when the spell actually hits Snape, and the Slytherin slowly goes rigid and then keels over backwards.

Somewhere overhead, the werewolf knows, it knows there are _humans_ and it knows it can’t get to them. It knows with bestial senses that one who was about to deliver itself as breakfast isn’t coming after all. And James understands this in the sudden silence that falls, in the excruciating _howl_ that then splits the dark around him, echoing through the tunnel with its own dark, vibrant magic. His blood runs cold for every reason, but he slows and swallows and steps beside Snape, stretched along the ground.

The Slytherin can’t speak, not while he’s hexed, but his eyes are furious and terrified when James looks down at him. He’s overwhelmed with relief that he’s made it in time, and realises with a shock that as much as he despises this school yard enemy it doesn’t mean that he deserves to die, and Remus certainly doesn’t deserve to be a pawn in this terrifying farce. James rubs his hand through his hair, willing his heart to slow down. He’s feeling too much – anger at Sirius, relief for Remus, loathing for Snape, gratitude for Peter’s unerring support ... and desperation to get out of here, away from the tunnel and back to the school, to Dumbledore who he trusts will sort out the whole mess.

He’s feeling too much for any of it to make much sense, so instead he pushes it all aside and sighs as he pushes his glasses up his sweaty nose. “You’re damned lucky I got here in time, you greasy bastard,” he says flatly, and with a flick of his wand, levitates Snape from the ground and begins the trek back the way he came.

l-l

Dumbledore has them all securely, safely in his office. Madam Pomfrey is there, checking over James and Snape carefully, and McGonagall and Slughorn are there too, both looking stern and grave. Sirius is standing by the window, staring out at the night, biting the knuckle of his thumb, trying not to think. Peter is sitting at the desk, sipping quietly from the teacup Dumbledore has passed him.

There’s too much conversation going on, but finally it’s narrowed to one talk only, when Pomfrey is satisfied neither James nor Snape is hurt, and they’re all forced into chairs before the desk.

“Lupin is a _werewolf_!” Snape spits. “A _werewolf_ in the _school_!”

“Not in the school, boy,” Slughorn snaps, his voice heavy with anger.  The tone is surprising – Sirius didn’t think Slughorn was capable of any emotion aside from jubilance. “Outside of the school. No one at risk - unless they decide to take a favour and use it for stupid means.”

Snape actually flushes, though Sirius is a little confused.

“I think it’s fair to say that Mr Black was manipulated without his knowledge. I hope you will not blame yourself for your part in this terrible event, Sirius,” Dumbledore says, squinting at Sirius over his half-moon glasses.

Sirius doesn’t understand what is going on, much less what to say, so he simply nods. He can feel James’ anger like an energy field burning next to him.

“Pettigrew doesn’t seem to have had much to do with it either,” McGonagall says, peering at him with rare approval.

“What about Remus?!” James finally snaps, speaking so loudly that Sirius flinches, startled.

“Nothing will happen to Remus. If anything, he is the most innocent in this situation.” Dumbledore’s voice is serene, but his eyes are shrewd as he considers Snape.

The sallow boy glares up at Dumbledore over his hooked nose, head lowered. “They’re harbouring a werewolf. They should be _expelled_ ,” he hisses, voice full of malice, and something like ... disappointment, Sirius thinks. Like this isn’t going the way he planned. Dumbledore’s next words confirm this.

“Ah. So that was what you hoped, Mr Snape? I’m afraid not. The fact that Mr Lupin is a werewolf does not affect his right to an education, and significant steps have been taken to ensure both his protection and that of the rest of the student body. I expect you to respect Mr Lupin’s privacy, Mr Snape, or I am afraid it will be _you_ who has no future at this school.”

Snape blanches, and then flushes dark, grinding his teeth.

There is steel in Dumbledore’s blue gaze. “Do you understand me?”

“Yes...” Snape grinds out.

“Very good,” Dumbledore leans back, tenting his fingers together. “Horace, as the boy has breached your own instructions, I will leave any punishment to your discretion. You’re both welcome to leave.”

And they exit. Sirius casts his eyes down, eying the teeth marks denting his thumb, suspecting his own punishment will be next.

Dumbledore sighs a little, and resettles in his chair.

_Here it comes_ , Sirius thinks.

“I regret that you have been drawn into this, Sirius,” Dumbledore says, and Sirius snaps his head up to see those periwinkle eyes looking at him fairly. “I imagine you’re feeling acute guilt, and that Mr Potter here and Mr Pettigrew will make certain you continue to feel such. That is plenty enough, though it is quite undeserved.

“I could of course tell you why you don’t deserve to be punished, but I am not ignorant of the rivalry between you three and Severus Snape. I do not wish to fan those flames. So instead, I simply ask that you put the matter from your minds, as I plan to do, and return to Gryffindor Tower. Professor McGonagall will escort you.”

Sirius blinks, utterly baffled, slightly relieved, very guilty. He risks a glance at James, whose expression mirrors his, but is still also suffused with anger. Peter just looks confused, and gulps down the last of his tea.

They all rise, and turn to leave, when Dumbledore’s voice catches them at the door.

“Mr Potter!”

James stops and pivots. Sirius walks into him, then stumbles backwards and rams into Peter instead. James scowls at him, before looking over his shoulder towards Dumbledore.

“I cannot be entirely certain that your actions in saving Mr Snape were not somehow influenced by his own ... deeds. However, I can be entirely sure that you have shown great courage in saving him to protect your friend. Fifty points to Gryffindor.”

McGonagall pushes them from the office before Sirius has time to register his amazement.

l-l

“There you are, Padfoot,” a tired, cheery voice says, and a lithe figure drops into the seat beside Sirius.

He’s been hiding away at the back of the library – a stupid place if he actually wanted to hide, because he knows this is where Remus goes when he wants some alone time. Well, perhaps he was hiding here from James, who is so furious with him he’s managed to hex him four times in the past day and a half, and Sirius hasn’t even slept in the dormitory for the past two nights, let alone seen Remus since the full moon.

Full moon night Peter was left to babysit him, to make sure he didn’t, as James put it, ‘shoot his fucking mouth off to anyone else, honestly you fucking stupid, selfish prat’. James had snatched up his invisibility cloak the instant McGonagal had left them and had raced off alone to keep Remus company through the long night. James was like a mother bear when it came to his friends - protective and aggressive, and he hadn’t trusted Sirius to be anywhere near Remus.

“Oh, uh. Hi, Remus,” Sirius says, standing abruptly. He doesn’t deserve this astonishing boy as a friend. Godric’s sword, given his behaviour maybe angry-James was right – he doesn’t deserve friends, period.

“I missed you the other night,” Remus says, tugging his sleeve idly to pull him back down. Sirius can never resist Remus, and he really doesn’t want to leave, because it’s only with Remus that he ever feels really at home. James is family, of course - his best friend, his brother in arms, who sheltered him when he had nowhere else to go. But Remus is different, and what Sirius feels for Remus is different. It’s certainly not fraternal, anyway.

“I’m sorry ... I couldn’t be there.” Sirius says, lamely, edging back down. Remus shifts, wriggling a little, and their knees touch.

“So Prongs has said.”

A small silence creeps between them, and then Remus sighs and brushes his shaking hands through his hair. “I’m sorry James is angry at you. It’s not fair.”

Something twinges inside Sirius’ chest. _Hasn’t James told him what I said? What I made happen?_ He’s not sure he wants to know. Tentatively, he says, “James is probably right to be cross with me. He’s usually right. I deserve it.”

He’s so astonished when Remus begins to laugh that he nearly falls out of his chair. He looks around so fast that his neck cricks and his black hair tumbles into his eyes, pricking them.

“How do you figure that one out?” Remus asks, genuine mirth written across his features. He still looks tired and pale, and just a little bit broken. Sirius wants to hold him, naively wants to make everything better, but he doesn’t have that right, so he forces the impulse away.

Instead he blinks, faltering, his mouth working without sound until finally he manages to say, “Because ... because I told him ... about the Willow...”

“Well, what else could you have done?” Remus says, waving his hand dismissively. “Snape had it all tied up neatly, didn’t he? I’m starting to understand why you and Prongs are always hexing him. He really is sort of disgusting, isn’t he? Makes me almost wish I hadn’t been so down on you about it sometimes. But you have my consent now, I figure he deserves a little payback.” Something hot glimmers in Remus’ eyes, something like well-controlled anger, maybe a sense of bridled injustice, because it’s not fair that he’s the one who has to suffer the consequences of Snape’s interference, of the long enmity. And then Remus sighs, and his expression filters into one of resigned sadness, something Sirius is more familiar with and actually wants to see _less_. “I don’t like him knowing. It...”

Remus trails off, unable to articulate what he’s feeling, yet somehow Sirius understands. He reaches out and wraps his hand around Remus’, offering him what little support he can. But his head is reeling and he has no idea why Remus thinks that he isn’t to blame. Sirius is confused and shaken and also - just _slightly_ \- hopeful.

“Remus ... I don’t think you can lay all the blame on Snape. As much as ... I mean, you know I wouldn’t ... ah fuck, I can’t. There’s no excuse. I told him, and ... you should hate me. You should blame me. How can you ever ... ever trust me now?” he hates how vulnerable his voice sounds, and bites his tongue, hard, to shut himself up.

Remus grabs his chin and ungently yanks his head around, forcing Sirius to look at him. The crick in his neck gives another painful snap. Sirius rubs at it, unnerved by the intensity of Remus’ gaze, the way his dark amber eyes bore into him, and then he can feel Remus searching through him, fumbling through his thoughts for something, and Sirius doesn’t know how to stop him, or even that he wants to, so he just maintains the eye contact until Remus finally sighs, “Dumbledore should have told you...”

Nervously, Sirius says, “Told me what?”

“Sirius,” Remus says, giving him a soft, endearing sort of look that makes Sirius’ heart lurch and sends a jolt of electric blood directly into his lap, where it pools warmly and stirs naughty thoughts that he decisively pushes away. “Sirius, Snape used the Felix Felicis potion he won from Slughorn at the beginning of term to manipulate you into telling him how to find me. You know how the potion works – it would have driven him to you, _given_ him the right words to get the information from you ... it told him how to get past the Willow, and,” Remus gave a humourless, mono-syllabic laugh, “ _luckily_ , it told him exactly when to stop. When James caught him, the potion was wearing off, and, bleeding idiot that he is, he was about to take his chances with me.”

Remus doesn’t need to say _and he would have died_ , because his tone says it and they both know it anyway.

Sirius says instead, blinking in astonishment, “How do you know this?”

The lycan’s mouth pulls into a lopsided smile. He taps the side of his nose. “I could smell the potion in him. _Yes_ , even from the Shack. The rest is simple deduction from what James has told me, and Dumbles has told me, and what you _haven’t_ told me.”

Sirius blinks, filling with disbelief. “So you don’t blame me?”

Remus shrugs. “There’s nothing to blame you for. Far as I’m concerned, you’re as much a victim as I am. Snape’s just a fucking idiot, and I gather the punishment of tutoring first years in remedial potions twice a week until the end of the _year_ is enough of a punishment to stop him messing with us again for a little while.”

Sirius’ heart lurches again, swelling with relief and gratitude and pure amazement at his beautiful, fair friend, and it all spills out of him when he grins and leans closer to press a chaste kiss to Remus’ mouth, a ‘thank you’ and an ‘I’m sorry’ and an ‘I love you’, all rolled into one, in the best language he knows.

One little innocent press, and he’s leaning back again, grinning irrepressibly, but Remus’ hand wraps around his head and jerks him forwards, his lips crushing against Sirius’ with deliberate force, startling him. His tongue moves against Sirius’ grinning teeth, and slides past them, touching Sirius’ with firm and gentle force, tasting him, encouraging him, inviting him...

Something inside Sirius’ head is cheering like a pre-pubescent girl. He firmly ignores it and grabs Remus’ neck, drawing him closer and drinking him in, breathing in his scent. _Fuck, he evens tastes like chocolate and ink_ , Sirius’s brains burbles, remembering the scent of Amortentia from the start of the term.

Remus’ hand rubs over his jaw, rasping across his stubble, and his mouth twists open, and they’re lost in each other.

When they finally draw apart – too soon, Sirius thinks – he touches Remus’ cheekbone tenderly, gazing at him with sweet happiness. “I didn’t know.”

Remus laughs. “Seems to be the theme of the evening,” he says, tipping his face into Sirius’ touch, blinking contentedly. “I wasn’t sure until you kissed me.”

Sirius frowns. “I kiss James all the time. I’m very tactile. How’d you figure anything from that?”

Remus quirks his little smile again. “You’ve never kissed James on the mouth.”

“Oh.” Sirius supposes that’s true. His fingers brush across Remus’ lower lip, and then he laughs, with a slight shudder. “Thank Godric for that!”

Remus’ mouth pulls up at the other side, a bright and brilliant grin. “Indeed,” he agrees, and then his eyes flash, and he catches Sirius in another passionate kiss.

Sirius is very glad in that moment for Snape and his luck potion.

l-l

James had been following Remus, keen that Sirius shouldn’t be alone with him. Not yet, not until he’s pulled his stupid head in a bit and learned some loyalty, some humility, until he’s proven trustworthy again.

He stops when he sees them together in the library, touching each other with soft desire. Then, shaking his head with affectionate amusement, James turns to leave and murmurs, “Close enough.”

_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> Woo for Wolfstar! Uhh, yeah, so I'm really excited to be posting to AO3 and had to just put up more stuff. I plan on lots more. :D Hope you liked.


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